


nighttime hymnal

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Anthropomorphic Akaashi, Demiromantic Akaashi, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 14:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Akaashi adjusts to an anthropomorphic life. It’s not easy when he has to contend with falling in love on top of that.A story in celebration of season 4.





	nighttime hymnal

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.

Akaashi is no longer human, but no one knows this yet. 

 

Preparing for their match with Nekoma, going through spiking drills and working out strategies long in the formation, Bokuto immerses himself in the healing ritual of anticipating victory. His teammates, showered in his evident good humour and excitement, toss their serves to Bokuto for him to spike and watch as the ball soars beyond its destination.

 

Reaching down for her water bottle, her voice subdued, Yukie says, “Any idea where Akaashi disappeared?”

 

Slamming on the slick gym floor, the ball rolls from Bokuto’s outstretched hands. From the silence awash over his teammates, Yukie catches the uneven murmur of his breathing.

 

“Come to think of it,” Konoha says, emerging from the storage closet, “I haven’t talked with him since this morning. Round five.”

 

It’s for Bokuto’s benefit that Konoha mentions the exact time of their encounter, never mind the nature. Watching Bokuto, he relishes in any acknowledgement of this exchange: a scrunching around his eyes, a dip in his jaws, a strange preoccupation with an invisible speck on his shorts. 

 

For his part, Bokuto picks up the abandoned ball and slides it deftly under Konoha’s shoulder before exiting through the gym’s main entrance, his speed a dire warning any obstacle awaits imminent impact.

 

“Yeah, fuck this.”

 

Ball in hand, Konoha follows, their teammates wandering in an oasis of confusion. 

 

-

 

There’s no mirror in this bathroom. This alone means not all is beyond repairing.

 

Akaashi slowly familiarizes himself with the four confined corners of the room, shedding thick black plumage as he does, the twitching of curled black ears alerting him to threats. External threats, not those of an internal persuasion. 

 

A pity they’re useless in that regard. His mind’s the predator here, but his body’s unaware. 

 

Cautiously, he unfurls his wings, immediately shedding an obscene quantity of black feathers. Attempting flight in this time capsule forgotten by its visitors means parting with an instinct for self-preservation holding him down. 

 

Footfalls, then, determined and strangely careful despite their echoing down the eerily quiet corridor. Then the call of his name, and Akaashi submits to that voice’s influence.

 

In flight, he crashes into the startling weight of the bathroom door. Clenching his shoulder, adrift in feathers, his vision clouds over with a film of tears. 

 

Tearing the door open, Bokuto seizes on the multitude of curious wonders in evident distress, a sight more familiar to him than his own name, and kneels before tenderly drawing Akaashi into his arms. 

 

“This keeps happening, Bokuto-san.”

 

They’re en route now, and Akaashi implores Bokuto with a flat, unmoving gaze to put him down.

 

“Not your fault.” 

 

Pointedly squinting forward, Bokuto strengthens his grip around Akaashi’s waist.

 

Following close behind them, Konoha says, “Always a production.”

 

Seething, Akaashi says, “No one benefits from your commentary, Konoha-san.”

 

That shuts him up. 

 

Truthfully, Akaashi owes Konoha a debt of gratitude for his thoughtless aside. It prevents him from imagining the various expressions on his teammate’s faces once they’re confronted with this spectacle. Awe mixed with revulsion, disgust and the worst of them all, a blank frown one shows to a stranger.

 

“Stop thinking, Akaashi.” Rubbing the dark scruff ebbing down his neck, Bokuto meets his gaze for the first time since Akaashi’s withdrawn into his arms.

 

“I’m trying.”

 

“We’re all trying.”

 

Thrusting open the left of the gym’s double doors, Konoha props it open with one shaking arm. 

 

Angling their bodies through the generous space, Bokuto carries him until they’ve reached the centremost net. There he kneels, gently depositing Akaashi into the helpful swarm of their teammates.

 

His darkened eyes glimmering, scaling the limits of the gym’s fluorescent ceiling, Akaashi leaps from their arms, taking flight. 


End file.
